


The Tourist(s)

by Zigzagwanderer



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Armitage Hux Has Issues, Developing Relationship, Evil Darlings, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Kylux - Freeform, M/M, Masturbation, Smut, Tumblr Prompt, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 21:04:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19117678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zigzagwanderer/pseuds/Zigzagwanderer
Summary: This is from a Tumblr prompt (softkyluxkinks) that had to do with Hux wanting to see Kylo masturbate? I honestly can't remember exactly because I am so rubbish at prompts.(You do not have to read my other fics to read this one, but it might help explain the Gala Incident, for example. And the cat outfit. And Mitaka whooping and having numerous jobs on the side.)Enjoy if you dare, and comment if you can, because writing is lonely.(Title from Radiohead.)





	The Tourist(s)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Boysnextdoor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boysnextdoor/gifts).



1.

The spa restaurant is charming, despite having been bombed to fuck during the invasion.

One of the service attendants produces a resort pamphlet from beneath its bandages. 

“And will my dashing new overlord be visiting one of our many attractions this evening?” It simpers as it tops up Hux’s cracked glass with more rosé. Again. 

“We also do massages.” A tendril wafts sensuously in Hux’s face. “Both kinds.” 

“External _and_ internal?” Hux rubs his stiff neck, sighs, and looks tempted.

Ren scowls. 

Hux is such an innocent. He never can tell the difference between ordinary grovelling and flirting.

“Leave us.” Ren flings the attendant away, violently, to a part of the dining room that has hard surfaces and pointy edges. 

The troopers are outside for the most part, consolidating the conquest by playing laserball on the lawns.

Staff droids buzz and clack around the place, resolutely ignoring the bloodstains and blaster-burns, as well as the undeniable fact that Hux and Ren put most of the damage there themselves.

“The _Sacred Chasm of Eternal Pain and Ecstasy_ isn’t far.” Ren chews on his bottom lip. “Can’t we go sightseeing now?”

Hux leans back, and slowly crosses his legs, in that swaggering way he has when he’s triumphant. 

And turned on.

Ren tries not to be giddy, and fails. 

It’s ok for Hux; the ornate décor fits him perfectly, despite his austere devotion to the Order, despite his uncomplaining acceptance of the stringent hardships that have made up his soldierly life. 

Ren has no imagination to speak of, and has yet to master time-travel, but if he could do one thing, it would be to return them to courtlier, yet less civilised times, where Hux’s naturally graceful villainy could involve a lot more swinging flamboyantly from star-crystal chandeliers.

And where, one would hope, Generals got to wear a helluva lot more tight white leather. 

“If by _sightseeing_ you mean ‘surveying our recently acquired planet’, my Lord Ren, then perhaps later. If you’re a good boy, that is.” 

Then Hux winks, maliciously. 

The sexy bastard. 

Ren sullenly longs to untie the obsidian ribbons that lace up Hux’s knee-high vacation boots. 

With his teeth. 

Naked. 

On all fours. 

“But first, I would very much like to collect on _our_ wager.” Hux demands the bill so that he can tear it up with a tyrannical flourish. “To the victor go the spoils, are we agreed?”

Ren flushes, delicately and effortlessly.

He has sipped at Hux’s wine all through their fancy supper, but could really use a tranquiliser, like the ones Hux is always slipping into Mitaka’s nitrogenous coffee.

It is fucking _stupid,_ that Kylo Ren, Destroyer of the Light, should feel like an adolescent again, woozy and horny and about to be caught out doing something rude.

“I guess.”

Hux nods briskly, and frog-marches Ren up to their room.

“There now.” 

Hux shoves Ren out of his outer clothing and down onto the nearest chaise-longue, plumping up the genuine Ewok-fur cushions for him.

“Comfortable?” 

The firebeetles seem as reluctant to perform as Ren. The tiny creatures shimmer only dimly, their beryllium cages swaying as the breeze blows in. 

“Uh, Armitage? What if I…uh…can’t? In front of you, I mean?”

“You can and you will,” Hux scolds. “I’ve already included it in my tactical logbook.”

“But don’t we want to, you know, explore each other’s bodies?”

“You may be as intrepid as you wish, Kylo. Whilst I watch.”

“But it’s been ages since we’ve fucked properly. What with you going away by yourself…”

“Away? By myself?” Hux interrupts. “I was brutally taken hostage by the Hutt Cartel, you scatterbrained buffoon. In retaliation, I might add, for the Gala Incident, which you caused.” 

“Right.” Ren glances down at his underwear. 

Even he seems surprised by what he finds there, and wonders, seriously, if his own two hands are going to be enough.

Fucking Hux, and his fucking ice-cold deliciousness. 

“It just seems a shame to waste _this._ ” Ren gestures immodestly. “And, seeing as it’s your fault…”

Hux grits his teeth. 

He has a suspicion that Ren doesn’t even need to read his thoughts anymore; he knows his General all too well, the lanky, sly-tongued tart.

“…shouldn’t you take some _responsibility_ for it?”

“Stop it, Kylo.”

“ _Manage_ the situation?” 

“I hate you.” 

“Do…your… _duty_?”

“No.” Hux decides, firmly, showing his mettle.

Participating in voyeurism when one is the _voyeur_ , is, Hux is certain, damned bad form. 

“Just use Force-magic or whatever and get your knickers off,” he snaps, seductively.

Ren sighs and shyly catches the scrap of silky material between his fingers, stripping off the last barrier to that sharp, green glance.

The cool night air echoes Hux’s even cooler regard. 

Ren gets his sweaty palm where it needs to be.

Hux perches nearby.

Hums a little of that light opera he sings along to in the refresher, when he thinks Ren isn’t listening.

They try not to catch one another’s eyes.

Then they do.

“So,” Hux fiddles with his cuffs. “I noticed that there were some changes made whilst I was in the clutches of the enemy.” 

“Um. Yeah. I put up new holos in the officer’s mess.” 

Ren stops, gratefully, what he’s doing. 

Then finds that he doesn’t really want to stop at all.

“They’re all statics from campaigns you were in,” Ren shivers. His hips have started to tingle. “Like that skirmish on Lla-regg’ub?”

The General leans forward a little. 

“Where I executed my famous double-oblique envelopment strike manoeuvre?”

“Fuck, yeah, that was hot.” Ren sees that Hux is blushing slightly. 

The temporary abdication of power it represents is, well, really cute. 

It’s also the saddest thing Ren can think of; it makes him wonder how things might have been, if he had always had Hux around, unequivocally on his side. 

Applauding him when he showed promise at something, instead of screaming and running away in terror. 

Slowly, Ren moves his hand more. “When you wiped out that gun turret? So fucking amazing.”

“Thank you.” Hux pats Ren’s knee, pleased.

The touch travels all over Ren’s body.

Ren swallows, hard.

Because Hux is dissolving his shame like the complex disaccharide he sprinkles and stirs into Ren’s protein gruel each morning.

Turns out that masturbation, like so many things, galactic domination and washing your hair or whatever, is fun to do alone, but even more fun when someone you love is along there for the ride. 

But just as Ren starts freestyling it up a bit, Hux clears his throat. 

“Actually, Kylo. I’m not sure this…coercion was the best idea. It just doesn’t feel right.” 

Ren cannot answer at that _precise_ moment.

And Hux cannot specifically articulate why this isn’t working for him. It has all the correct elements for Hux to be having the time of his life; the subjugation, the bullying, Ren’s big, beautiful cock, but even though Hux is indeed squirming on his antique chair, it is not in a good way. 

“It was apparent that you didn’t want me to share in this. I made you do it.”

Hux gets up and strolls around until he’s gazing out from the balcony. Or rather, the place where his destroyer’s plasma cannon took out the wall. 

“And I know I shouldn’t have expected you to miss me,” Hux continues. “It’s just that when you didn’t even attempt to come to my rescue…”

“Urrrr?” Ren moans, inquiringly. “What now?”

None of the holoporn channels he’s been learning from lately have covered existential crises. 

“I had to engineer my own release from those dreadful Hutts, whereas you, quite evidently, do not need me to negotiate your _release_ in the slightest.”

“Armitage…”

“It’s quite alright.” 

“Sit back down. Join in, even.”

“Thank you, but no. I think I will take a look at that Sacred Hole In The Ground after all. Maybe get that massage.”

“But…”

“You just…carry on…without me, of course.”

And Hux actually leaves.

Climbs out of the broken window and leaves.

“Fuck.” 

Ren has no empathy, because what would be the point in that?

But finally, he may just have the smallest inkling, of what it must be like to be stabbed with a sabre blade, right through the heart.

Or, more accurately, shot with an emotional blaster-bolt, square in the balls. 

 

2.

Hux understands the geographical, political and even psycho-sexual motivations behind most Territorial Occupations.

Which is why he has invaded the spa planet purely to win a bet. 

 

Say what you like about the Hutts, they at least provide complimentary shampoo in their high-security prisons. 

Hux made sure to bring a few vials back for Ren, as a souvenir. 

Thankfully, no-one has yet asked him how he smuggled them out. 

“You used up all of our laundry rations?” General Hux pauses, in the middle of untangling Ren’s freshly rinsed hair. “Because you spent yourself? All over the bunk? After _every_ shift?”

“Some Knights use a prelonged pre-ejaculative state as a meditation,” Ren deflects, defensively pointing to the religious education pamphlets he’s always leaving around their room. 

Honestly, sometimes it’s as if Hux isn’t really into Cultural Awareness. 

Then Ren yawns, pulling one of Hux’s old Academy sweatshirts. 

It’s way too small but smells just right. Of spilled rosé and blaster discharge and hair gel. 

Ren wraps himself around Hux and tries distract him with sleepy little lovebites.

He really wishes that he’d disposed of the ‘evidence’ of all those lonely nights a lot better; he has intel that suggests Mitaka takes in a little washing on the side. 

Ren also wonders if Hux should see a medic about the vein that sometimes throbs in his temple. Like it’s doing right there and then. 

“You’re just being an obnoxious liar,” Hux accuses, stiffly, forgetting that he has been trying to persuade Ren into having reunion sex with him over the desk. “How dare you brag, that all the time I was being held captive and tortured, you were…draining yourself dry?”

Matter of fact, the isolation cell they put Hux in was blissfully restful, the slops palatable, and the light, regular beatings…bracing.

“Why don’t we dial up some dirty holodramas?” Ren snuggles into Hux’s neck. “Then make out like, a lot, until you come in your pyjamas? You know, like I do when you’re the one who’s tired?”

Hux pauses, enticed. 

It is the very devil, this domesticity. 

He is beginning to feel very much seduced by, well, the Dark Side. 

Or if it goes against his own diabolical grain, this sweet contentment, does that in fact make it the Light Side?

Hux grimaces, because he is the rising star of the greatest dictatorship the universe will ever know, and he damn well _knows_ the answer.

And it is, at this moment, clambering into his too-narrow bunk.

Ren. With his witchy eyes and wicked mind and heart-stopping loveliness, is the only one who is able to beguile him in this way. 

Hux huffs.

Ren hears the huff and picks, a little resentfully, at a crack in the metal wall. 

He’s actually been _trying_ to keep things ticking over in Hux’s absence.

Dealing with Mitaka’s separation anxiety has been exhausting.

Covering even a couple of Hux’s innumerable chores _had_ given Ren a new, and greater respect for his co-commander.

Especially in a kinky, role-playing, dressing up once or twice in Hux’s ice-white formal uniform jacket and fingering himself with Hux’s favourite gloves kind-of-a-way. 

Ren did not expect thanks, but neither did he expect Hux to be a complete fucking asshole about his personal recreation breaks, of all things. 

It’s like his Uncle ruining his teenage years with guilt and mortification all over again.

Hux finishes tidying up after Ren and then stares at Ren’s back. 

Begins a subtle interrogation.

None of which is, in any way, needy or pathetic.

“Really, Armitage?” Ren finally turns and does the pout. “You’re jealous of me? For touching…me?”

Hux wants nothing more than to lick that sulky mouth right off Ren’s face. 

“Don’t be ludicrous, you simpleton. I’m simply taking an interest in your…hobbies. I’m not afraid of…the competition, when it comes to our, your, lovemaking,” Hux barks back, confused. “Even if the competition is you.” 

“Ok, then. I’ll let you watch me next time I do it. Satisfied?”

“Fine.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” Ren lies. “But you only get to see me _perform_ , if you can get us into that exclusive spa resort. The one with the terrifying Hole of Doom. I’ve always wanted to see that shit.”

“Fine.” 

“We have a deal?”

“Indubitably.”

“Fucking great.” 

Ren throws the blanket back in angry invitation. Hux viciously kicks off his slippers. Gets into bed. 

Tells Ren sternly how much he loves him.

Ren says it right back.

Then they kiss each other goodnight with only the minimum of tongue and tenderness. 

And the cuddling together and holding of hands as they fall asleep must just be because space is so very, very cold. 

 

Later, the holopad in Hux's lap lights up, spectral blue.

Ren mutters something, drowsily, and Hux dims the display. 

He is a man who reflects, but never regrets; Ren is different, and deep, and easily disturbed. 

Hux knocks the ash off his thin cigar into the reliquary that holds the Lord Vader’s dusty remains. 

Take that, Grandpa.

Then he reads the incoming reply.

The cantina-hotel in question has returned all of his bribes. 

Refuses to consider his booking application.

He can go on a waiting list for the most basic of accommodations, but even that could take millennia. 

“This means war,” Hux declares, literally.

And, on the morrow, the glorious First Order damn well invades the bloody snobby little spa planet.

And Hux’s polite request, for a nice double suite with views, is somehow incorporated into the articles of surrender, and into the footnotes of interstellar military history.

 

3.

Ren swathes himself in one of the spa’s etherblankets, and walks down the short, gritty pathway to the Stinking Chasm of Pain or whatever.

The ominous buttes and canyons are lit by misshapen growths of pastel neon fungus. 

It’s actually kinda romantic. 

“There you are, Armitage. Snoke sent us a comms message, so I thought I’d come find you.”

Hux is sitting on the edge of the enormous, baleful hole, which puckers the yellowish, sulphurous sand obscenely. 

He nods, once. 

He knows that by rights, he should be executed, for using manpower and supplies to satisfy his own evil agenda, instead of that of the First Order.

These days, his only worry would be how Ren would cope on his own.

“Right.” He imagines that, out of sheer laziness, his Supreme Leader will settle for a little light throttling instead. “Better get it over with.”

So, he reaches to put his jacket back on, but stops when Ren drops down beside him. The clinging, semi-sentient blanket pools and swirls itself mistily around Ren’s hips. 

“Uh.” Ren shrugs. “I was the one that got you kidnapped.”

“Pardon me?”

“And then I made sure they’d keep you. For a while. The Hutts, I mean. I thought you could do with a proper break.”

“Oh.”

Ren absently picks up a small jewel-lizard, admires it's prismatic brilliance, then tosses it down the sinkhole. 

"But you escaped, so quickly…”

“I wanted to get back.” Hux says simply. “To you.”

“Oh.”

Hux looks at Ren. 

The seven moons gild Ren's skin, his scars a richer lustre again. 

Hux brushes Ren’s hair back from his face. 

“I think you’re very pretty, you know.”

Ren flushes. “I know. You had Mitaka write that poem about me, remember?”

“Hmm.” Hux leans in, touching Ren’s lips with his. “Beloved burden.”

Ren returns the kiss. “My General.”

He undoes Hux’s collar button, and slips the braces from his shoulders.

“Earlier…you mentioned exploration?” Hux mouths and bites softly along Ren’s jaw and neck. “I might have some _deep spaces_ you can explore, if you like?”

“I really fucking missed you,” Ren climbs into Hux’s lap. 

Sensing fairly easily what its wearer has in mind, and possibly not wanting to be permanently traumatised, the etherblanket slips away.

Ren is naked, and back home again, in Hux’s arms.

“That’s why I, well, spent all my off-shift time in our bunk.”

Hux has been purposefully stroking his fingers down Ren’s warm back. Around his waist. 

He slows down. “Oh? You mean that when you..?”

Ren makes a mental note to stop having these heart-to-hearts during potential sex moments. 

“Every time, I was thinking about you. Like, you in the refresher, all soapy.” Ren grinds down until the petting starts up again. “Or you on the bridge, snarling at some junior officer. Or when you dress up in your cat costume and get me to call you Millicent…”

Hux pushes Ren backwards onto the viewing platform and assumes a flanking position, but Ren shakes his head.

“Armitage. Let me show you.”

And what follows is sweet, and some would say highly deserved torture, for them both.

Hux finds not touching Ren nearly unbearable.

Ren wants, very badly, for Hux to touch.

“You are not just _pretty_ , Kylo,” Hux says, mesmerised by the movements and the noises Ren makes as he pleasures himself. “You are, without doubt, the most beautiful thing in the entire universe.” 

Ren plunges a finger here, corkscrews his fist there, feeling all the while as if it is Hux; inside him, outside him, and, as an added bonus, watching it all as well.

After a few more words of encouragement, Ren comes, and it is endless, and inexorable, like falling headlong into the Sacred Bottomless Pit of Ecstasy. Or whatever. 

And Hux’s name echoes around the starlit arroyos.

And at his desk on the destroyer, Mitaka whoops.

 

They locate the etherblanket, cowering in a crevice halfway along a canyon wall, and clean Ren up. 

All things considered, the fact that they need to wring it out twice is impressive.

“You should probably reply to Snoke,” Ren reminds Hux, as they make their way back through the embattled resort gardens.

Carnivorous plants playfully nip at them, and the air is fragrant, as the last known specimen of giant muskholly burns gradually to ashes in the smouldering ruins. 

“Yes. Of course.” He frowns, helping Ren in, back through the window. “I suppose he wants my bloody head for all this.”

“No,” Ren pulls Hux’s jacket closer around himself and heads for their bed. “He just wants you make sure there’s a room big enough for him, when you supervise the rebuild. He mentioned maybe having our annual conferences here from now on.”

Hux rubs his hands together; he is well rested, and has yet another project to be stressed over and shout at people about.

Plus, he needs to warm up his fingers before doing what he wants to do to Ren.

“All well and good. But the first booking under the new regime will belong to us, my lord.”

“Cool,” Ren says, and reaches to help Hux unbutton his trousers. “We should kind of insist that we get a regular holiday.”

“Oh, no, you idiotic wizard, this wouldn’t be just a holiday,” Hux indicates to Ren that his boot-ribbons need unlacing.

Preferably with Ren’s teeth.

While he’s on all fours.

“Uh?”

Hux is already scheming and planning and enjoying himself immensely. 

“I was thinking more along the lines of…a honeymoon.”


End file.
